Page 214 of Fractured Loyalties

“You think Celeste could have stopped him?” I ask. “Or Alec? They deal in paperwork and polite words. Men like Caleb don’t even hear those. I could have stopped him.”

Finally, she turns toward me. Her voice isn’t loud, but it cuts. “I did stop him. Me. Not you. Not your gun. Not your threats. I stood there and used what I had.”

For a moment, her conviction presses into me. And it infuriates me—because she’s right. The image of Caleb doubled over from the pepper spray is burned in. Mara standing, not running, not breaking.

But conviction doesn’t kill men like him.

“You hurt him,” I admit. “But you didn’t finish him. That’s the difference. You’ll sting him, and he’ll come back sharper. I end him, and he doesn’t come back at all.”

She flinches, just slightly, at the bluntness. Her gaze darts back to the glass, her reflection fractured by the streaks of sunlight.

We drive through the arterial stretch of the city. Glass towers glare down, mirrored surfaces hiding more than they show. The SUV is a cocoon of tension—her silence a wall, my thoughts a storm.

Then she says, barely audible: “Maybe I don’t want him ended. Maybe I just want him gone.”

“Gone is an illusion,” I snap. “I gave him that choice once, remember? I gave him the chance to walk away, but he didn’t take it.”

I take a deep breath and mutter under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear, “Gone is what weak people settle for. Right now, I hate myself for that moment of weakness. Dead is the only kind of gone that matters at this point.”

Her throat works as she swallows. I see her fingers twist the ring harder, skin reddening beneath the metal.

“Mara,” I murmur, and this time my hand does land on her thigh, heavy, firm. She stiffens but doesn’t push it away. “You don’t have to want it. I’ll want it for you. I’ll carry it. And when it’s done, you won’t have to think about him ever again.”

Her eyes close. Not in surrender. Not yet. More like she’s trying to block out the inevitability I’ve just laid in front of her.

The streets thin until the coast road opens. Wind from the ocean cuts across the asphalt, salt burning the air. I take the turnoff onto a narrower lane, half-hidden behind a crumbling guardrail. Most people wouldn’t notice it. That’s why I chose it.

The second safehouse waits at the end, set back from the road, surrounded by trees that muffle the world outside. A three-story structure of dark stone and glass, faceless, stripped of charm—like it was built to disappear. And it was.

I keep my hand on her thigh until the building comes into view. Until she knows that nothing she says will change the course we’re on.

When I pull up to the curb, she exhales like she’s been holding it in since the clinic.

The building looks like nothing—weathered brick, boarded windows, an iron door scabbed with rust.

Her voice comes edged with disbelief. “This is it?”

I kill the engine. “This is where no one finds you unless I want them to.”

Her fingers go still on the ring. The line between fear and safety blurs again, and I see her caught in it. Exactly where I need her.

I step out, round the hood, and open her door. She doesn’t move at first, but when I extend my hand, she takes it. Not because she trusts me. Because she doesn’t see any other road left.

And that, in the end, is trust enough.

We move, hand in hand.

Inside, the house greets us with cold air and clean lines. White walls. Polished wood. Wide windows that look out on nothing but black trees. There’s no softness here. No comfort. That’s the point.

“Second floor,” I tell her, gesturing to the stairs. “Take the room at the end of the hall. It’s yours.”

Her gaze cuts to me, sharp enough to strike. “Mine? Or the one you’ve decided is mine?”

The heat in her voice digs under my skin. Good. Anger means she’s alive. “Does it matter? The locks hold either way.”

Her lips press into a thin line. She doesn’t move.

I step closer, the air between us tightening. “You wanted to go back to your apartment. Pretend none of this touched you. And today, Caleb was at your clinic. Tomorrow, he would have been at your door. That’s the truth, Mara. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll live because of it.”